


Incestuous

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, F/M, Hell, Lilith - Freeform, M/M, POV Ruby, Wincest Implied, becoming a demon, the kinds of things a demon hopes for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Ruby became the third Winchester?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incestuous

Summary: What if Ruby became the third Winchester?

 __ **INCESTUOUS** : characterized by an inappropriate and exclusive intimacy

Ruby knows all too well the blackness that boils up inside her.  She looks at Dean and feels nothing but rage, horrible, rending, ugly rage.  She’d like to rip him into pieces from the inside out and feed them to him just to watch him scream and choke on his own nasty sweetness.

But, no, he’s the brother, right?  The “saved” one.  So special. Ruby remembers to sheath her claws.

It’s different when she looks at Sam.  The blackness stays down. That taint that burns so black, like a spot on the sun in him—it’s like chocolate, coffee, a bitter, sweet darkness.   Sometimes, looking at him, she almost remembers love.  She can almost remember the feeling of caring for someone other than herself.  She does remember, abstractly, why she sacrificed herself, why she made the deal, but Jesus Christ, no, she wouldn’t do it again.  Hundreds of years have passed since then, and that’s just on earth.  Hell has its own ways of reckoning time – nothing so mundane as ten years to a month.  Hell passes in eons, each soul measured by its constant, inevitable, accelerating degradation. The first eon is the longest, when you still care– the fears you bear to hell for the people you loved, slowly leach away, replaced by terror that’s only for yourself.  The inexorable grind of mounting torments, the dread of what’s to come, and what does come, no respite except for suspended plateaus of dread, pushes out anything resembling love.  The trembling bird in your breast that quivers at the thought of comfort, kindness, an embrace,– it strangles in a wire that tightens and tightens till only rotting meat remains. That’s just the first eon.  The second is bargaining, abasement, slavery.  The third is cunning, deception, revenge.  The fourth is anger, hatred, violence.  The fifth is depravity, and the lusts only a demon can truly appreciate.  It’s during the sixth eon you claw your way to the surface.  You savor the smell of a chink in a human’s armor, drawing you in like the stench of decay.  And during the seventh eon, if you’re lucky, you play – reveling in the hell you can bring on earth. 

The body she’s riding is pleasantly empty – no distracting screaming or muffled sobs from the previous owner, who vacated long before the doctors pulled the plug – the body is comfortable and Ruby passes a moment remembering the desperate, ravenous embrace of Sam Winchester.

They say power is the best aphrodisiac, and in Sam’s case Ruby wholeheartedly agrees. After her return she homed in on him, shining so brightly among the dim confusion of humans. All that power, latent and simmering in a stew of wrath and despair. So delectable, just on the edge of painful.  He never worried about hurting her, since she was dead already – so that was awesome, because the body felt pain just fine, and the lines that got crossed fed straight into the demon inside and kicked her right over the edge.  Like something from the second eon, without the hopelessness and shame. Perfection. These animal suits the humans live in produce the most sublime chemicals, given a chance. The added advantage is, they bind him to her, whether he likes it or not.  Now his nostrils fill with her and his body remembers the intoxication of the release she gave him;    he relaxes slightly, and leans toward her, his pupils dilate when he sees her suit. He thinks he doesn’t trust her, but his body sings differently.  She’ll take whatever she can get.

Right now though, she’s out in the cold.  The brother, he’s the favored one.  She can’t fight that.

Hell had echoed with the brother’s screams.  He hadn’t been far into the first eon, really.  The fear of losing Sam had been cut so deep into the poor thing’s soul that the demons couldn’t dig it out to replace with something nastier. Sam, Sam, Sam, for forty years; Christ, it had gotten tedious. Evil Sam, victim Sam, obnoxious arrogant human Sam,– it made no difference what Dean had been shown or who had held the whip, he yearned toward Sam with every fiber of his soul. 

Ruby, suffering Lilith’s creativity, heard the echoes of Dean’s torments throughout hell.  He sure was a loud one, and he cried so pretty. But his love for Sam went deep – really, too deep for a soul Hell had earned. He’d have been ruined before he turned demon. Privately, Ruby thought Dean was kind of a good example.  Maybe she could defeat Hell by serving Sam, too.

She swore when she got out she’d kill him – of course she was lying – eon three had been a snap for her.

The moment when Sam destroyed his first demon without even breaking a sweat – Ruby felt something like rapture pass through her.  This blazing spirit would be her king.  She would serve him no matter the cost.  He cared for her, defended her, despite her demon nature.  She couldn’t love him, but she’d go through the motions. Maybe the eons would roll in reverse.

He stood tall beside her, despite the Angels, never minding the blackness of terror that boiled up when she saw them.  And Dean stood too, somehow grasping at last her commitment to Sam.  They finally stood by her one as of their own.

And so now, she waits, in another smoky bar.  But in truth, their scent fills her nostrils.

She’s seen the soft hand Dean passes over his brother. She’s seen the molten flash in Sam’s eyes when he looks at Dean.  She’s overheard their groans when, unbeknownst to them, she stood outside their motel window, hands on her own warm body.

Someday soon, they’ll invite her in.  And what will boil up when she goes.

 

 

   



End file.
